


a question of lust

by FakePlastikTrees



Category: Code Black (TV)
Genre: F/F
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-12-04
Updated: 2016-12-04
Packaged: 2018-09-06 10:46:54
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,713
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8747521
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/FakePlastikTrees/pseuds/FakePlastikTrees
Summary: Heather's reaction to Leanne post 2x9 is not exactly what Leanne was expecting.





	

It’s a brisk 9 am when Leanne finally makes it out of the hospital. She’s tired, exhilarated and everything in between. Carving an explosive out of a human body can is kind of a cool thing to brag about in the future. For now, she’s looking forward to sleep, and maybe some food.

 

Smoking a celebratory cigar on the roof does not feel like the greatest of ideas now that she can taste the aftermath of it, even after brushing her teeth. She considers going back to the hospital for a cup of coffee to get rid of the taste, but she knows she’ll get pulled into something if she does, and now that her car is in sight, she can practically hear her bed calling out to her, so maybe just a bagel when she gets home will suffice.

 

She unlocks her car, throws her overnight in the backseat and is suddenly distracted by movement a few cars down the stretch. Peering around her own car she spots Heather, struggling with her own car, angrily shoving things out of the way in her trunk.

 

“God damn it.” She’s grumbling, finally taming whatever it is she was trying to tame before she aggressively shoves her jacket off and stuffs in there before slamming the door shut. She’s flushed and fuming, her brow furrowed when she spots Leanne.

 

Leanne begins to laugh. She can count on one hand the times she’s seen this girl in bright spirits. And that includes the times they’ve slept together.

 

“Are you ever _not_ scowling?” She asks, she’s joking, but Heather doesn’t seem to see the humor in it, she just stands there, staring at Leanne for a few murderous seconds before she rolls her eyes and then turns toward the driver’s side.

 

“Okay,” Leanne says to herself, thinks about getting in her car and leaving, but the nurturing, nagging side outweighs the side that just wants to go to bed, and instead she walks toward Heather’s car, kicking herself for it the entire time.

 

When she reaches her, Heather is standing with her phone in her hand, texting away while the driver door is wide open and the engine is running.

 

“Heather? You okay?”

 

Heather doesn’t look up, and instead keeps texting. “Yep.”

 

“You look a little…”

 

“I said I’m fine,” she snaps, finally looking up and then tossing her phone so hard in the car that it hits the dashboard.

 

“Are you sure?” Leanne asks, “Because that phone looked expensive and I think I heard something crack.”

 

“I heard you pulled a bomb or something out of someone.”

 

Leanne smiles at that, “yeah, something like that.”

 

“So is that part of the job, too? Getting yourself blown up?”

 

“What?”

 

“Why did you do that? You’re a _Doctor_ not an explosives expert. There are other Doctors here learning from you and all they’re going to take from what you did is that it’s okay to be reckless and stupid.”

 

“I think you’d better stop right there before you say something you’ll regret. We’re still on hospital grounds.”

 

“What were you trying to prove?” Heather is raising her voice now, the scowling dialed up to a hundred the more she keeps going, and all it’s doing is pissing Leanne off.

 

“Willis needed my help.”

 

“ _Willis_ was in the military, you were not, and you almost got yourself and Jesse killed.”

 

“If I hadn’t been there, a lot more people would have been killed. I did what I had to do because a fellow Doctor needed my help, and if you don’t get that, I can’t explain it to you. You would have done the exact same thing, Heather. Why do you care anyway?”

 

“I don’t.”

 

“What? Should I have checked in with you first?”

 

“You don’t have to say anything to me, I don’t care what you do.”

 

Leanne nods, “Good. I don’t care what you do either.”

 

“Good.”

 

“You know what?” Leanne cuts in, “I don’t’ have time for this. I came over here because you seemed upset, but I can see it’s just another day of Heather Pinkney hating the world, so I’m going to get in my car, I’m going to go home and get into bed and forget all about you and this hospital for about twelve hours because I did something amazing today and I am exhausted. I need to sleep. Goodbye Heather.”

 

She gets in the car, slams the door, starts the engine and then stops, realizes she’s on edge—more alert than she’d like to be right now—and curses, “Damn it!” There’s a nock on her window, which startles her. Heather is pouting outside, seemingly regretful, but Leanne allows her to simmer in it a few moments before the window goes down.

 

“Yes?”

 

“I’m sorry.”

 

She can tell ‘sorry’ doesn’t come easily to Heather. In fact, Leanne isn’t sure she’s ever heard her say the word in a context that wasn’t sardonic. “Get in,” she says.

 

“What?”

 

“I pulled an explosive out of someone today. I want to go to bed, and I don’t want to do it alone. Go shut your car off, lock it, and get it in my car.”

 

Minutes later, they’re on the road to Leanne’s home.

 

There is a small window in the morning in which there is a lull in traffic and it’s possible to get from point A to point B in a decent amount of time. It’s that time now, and this gets them to Leanne’s door in only twenty minutes, as opposed to the usual hour.

 

Leanne lives in a two level Spanish style house somewhere between Echo Park and Silverlake. As they pull up to the short driveway, she calculates Heather’s apartment is ten minutes away. They haven’t said a word to each other the entire drive there, opting instead to listen to talk radio. The silence isn’t awkward or heavy but it’s tense and even though Heather walks steps behind her, Leanne is deftly aware of her.

 

Once inside, they go into the kitchen where Leanne gets a glass of water while Heather watches her drink it, leaning against the counter. It’s clear already neither is in the mood to talk.

 

“Where’s your bedroom?” Heather asks.

 

“Up the stairs to the right.”

 

“Okay,” she nods, pulls the navy blue sweater she’s wearing over her head and drops it on the counter, “see you upstairs.”

 

There’s a moment before Heather disappears out of the kitchen, where Leanne wonders if maybe she should put a stop to this before it gets serious. There are factors to consider; she’s young, they work together, people can find out, _she’s very young_. But that moment is catapulted far, far away when Heather unclasps her bra and rounds the corner towards the stairs, because damn it, she had a great day and she deserves the half naked young, hot, moody surgeon currently walking into her bedroom. After rinsing the glass she’s just used, she joins Heather upstairs.

 

Heather doesn’t comment on the pictures of her kids in the living room, though she surely saw them, she doesn’t want to know about her husband, or the other car in the driveway that Leanne doesn’t drive but can’t seem to get rid of. She doesn’t say anything except, “come here” when she sees Leanne walk in the bedroom.

 

Leanne goes, until she’s standing before Heather, who sits naked at the foot of her bed, and who proceeds to undo Leanne’s belt and then pulls her jeans down to mid hip before pushing her tank up, high enough to kiss her bare stomach as Leanne touches her hair and sighs, closing her eyes against the sensation of soft lips on her belly, small kisses giving way to open mouthed ones, tongue and grazing teeth added shortly thereafter.

 

Heather doesn’t object when Leanne places a hand around her throat and presses just slightly while she fucks her without mercy, she stays put when she tells her not to move before proceeding to eat her out until the girl is all but sobbing Leanne’s name—and when Leanne teasingly calls her a good girl, she gives her a nice hearty “fuck you” in return and demands more.

 

It’s good like this, with no expectations, though Leanne knows eventually—well eventually isn’t today, at least that’s what she’ll tell herself because she’s too old to go through extended, more detailed versions of what happened earlier in the parking lot.

 

Heather doesn’t ask about the open box of men’s clothes Leanne’s finally gotten around to giving away to Goodwill. But she does ask, “does that feel good?” when Leanne’s taking three fingers and all she can do is moan her response. Heather then tells her she wants to fuck her with a strap-on and Leanne has one second of the image in her head before she comes so hard that she’s shaking long after.

 

“You taste like tobacco,” Heather says later while she draws invisible patterns along Leanne’s bare back.

 

“Cuban cigar.”

 

She makes a face and says, “That’s gross.”  

 

Leanne kisses her then, long, languid, purposely so, and gradually pulls her close, angling their bodies so she’s rocking against her thigh and Heather against hers. It’s slow, leisured and this time when Heather’s brow furrows, it’s for a more pleasurable reason. She exhales shakily with her release, and then grips Leanne’s hip, watching her the entire time as she follows.

 

She doesn’t linger. After grabbing a glass of water, which she shares with Leanne, Heather tells her she’s requested an Uber to take her back to her car and that she has to go.

 

“Okay,” Leanne replies, watching her get dressed, having collected her top from the kitchen during her quest for hydration.

 

“I’ll make sure to lock the door,” she assures her, kisses her one more time and leaves.

 

Leanne hears the door shut downstairs and for a second entertains the idea of calling her and asking her to stay, but she pushes it away and opts for sleep instead. She dreams about a smell, a lovely scent. It wont’ be until her next shift when she walks past Heather that she’ll realize it’s her perfume, but she won’t question it because if Heather doesn’t ask questions then Leanne won’t either.


End file.
